Asinus Aureus
by Chiquita-3
Summary: EWE. Draco runs an elite male escort service. He finds himself interviewing an interesting applicant for the job. HP/DM.
1. Part I

**Title:** Asinus Aureus

**Author:** Chiquita-3

**Pairing: **Harry/Draco

**Rating:** M

**Warnings: **Sexual situations, language

**Summary:** EWE. Draco runs an elite male escort service. He finds himself interviewing an interesting applicant for the job. HP/DM.

**Words: **~30,000

**A/N**: I do not own Harry Potter. This three-part fic is canon compliant minus the epilogue. Please be aware that I am a crazy busy college student who writes fanfiction in her _very_ limited spare time. That is all. Enjoy!

***

After a dizzying floo ride into his private office, Draco was incredibly grateful for the cup of tea his receptionist placed in front of him as he sat down at his massive mahogany desk for the first time that day.

"Milk and no sugar, just the way you like it darling."

"Thanks, Pansy." Draco wrapped his slender fingers around the porcelain handle and gratefully took a sip, closing his eyes as the steam warmed his face.

The dark haired witch beamed, and placed a manila file folder on his desk next to the tea saucer. "Today's interviewees."

Draco's eyes flew open and he put his tea down. "I thought I finished the last of the interviews yesterday?"

Pansy rolled her eyes at his surprise. "Really, Draco. You run one of the top male escort businesses in the wizarding world. Working as an escort for you is like working as a confidant for the fucking Queen of England!"

She set a hand on his arm, splaying her carefully lacquered red fingernails, and gave a firm squeeze as she leaned in towards him. "People are falling all over themselves for that kind of prestige."

"Doesn't mean I have to enjoy conducting interviews," Draco growled as he pulled his arm from her grasp and straightened his tie.

"Well, I think today's interviews will prove to be very interesting." Pansy gave him a knowing smirk. She grabbed the robes flung across the corner of the desk and moved to hand them to the coat rack. "The first one is scheduled in ten minutes, but he's already here. Shall I send him in?"

"Fine." Draco casually spun around in his chair to look out the window onto the streets of Diagon Alley below, sneering slightly as his eyes came across the garish Wheezes sign.

Pansy started to leave, but then paused as she remembered something. "Oh, and your mother called. She wants to know what night this week would work best for dinner."

Draco glanced over his shoulder to where Pansy was standing in the doorway. "If she calls again, tell her Thursday night would be convenient."

"Will do." And with that, Pansy exited the spacious office, giggling to herself. _Interesting interviews, indeed_.

The manila folder lay untouched on the desk as Draco remained lost in his thoughts, his legs artfully crossed so as not to wrinkle his navy silk suit. The _click_ of the door opening escaped his notice, and it was only the familiar voice that drew him out of his reverie.

"Hello, I…I hope I'm not late," the flustered applicant managed to verbalize.

Both eyebrows moved towards Draco's forehead in interest as he quickly and gracefully swung his chair around. His surprised gray eyes confirmed what his ears had heard and he slowly smiled, showing off his dazzling white teeth, and regained his cool composure.

Green eyes stared intensely back at him.

The savior of the wizarding world was applying to work for a Malfoy? And as a male companion, no less.

_Oh Pansy, how I adore you_.

Draco laced his fingers together and leaned forward onto the desk.

"Well hello Harry Potter."

***

_FIVE DAYS EARLIER_

***

Harry was drunk. It had been a while since he let himself go like this, but the warm buzz in his belly and the flush in his cheeks didn't deter him from gesturing to the barmaid for another drink.

"Whoa, mate. I think you may have had enough," Ron said as he carefully guided Harry's waving arm back to the table. Harry proceeded to place his forehead on top of his hand as the world gently began to spin.

"I don't feel so good," is what Harry meant to say, but it came out as more of a groan.

As Ron rubbed circles on his back, Neville stood up to track down a glass of water.

"You have nothing to be ashamed about, Harry. You're still part of the family." Ron's hand stilled. When he received no reply, he continued, "I'm sure Ginny will come around." The only response he received was a slight shudder.

"Think he'll snap out of it?" Neville whispered as he returned, setting the procured glass near Harry's hand, drops of condensation sliding towards the rapidly forming ring on the table.

"I don't know, he seems pretty bent out of shape," Ron replied. _And I'm not just talking about his sexuality_, he thought but didn't dare say out loud.

Harry finally stirred, reaching out for the water glass and pulling it towards him to rest against his overheated forehead. The movement left a smear of water on the table, which Neville proceeded to wipe up with a napkin as he asked, "Feeling alright there, Harry?"

Harry managed a nod as he reached his lips towards the rim, allowing the water to run across his tongue and down his throat. "I juss wanna go home."

Ron and Neville exchanged a glance. The divorce papers had just been approved and Harry didn't exactly have a home to go to, seeing as Ginny had kept their conjugal residence.

"Hannah's just getting over the flu, so…" Neville trailed off as Ron nodded.

"That's fine, Hermione won't mind if he crashes on the couch." And with that, Neville helped Ron drag the drunken golden boy out of the booth and towards the doors to the street.

***

Harry woke up the next morning to the smell of bacon, his stomach lurching as he tried to remember where he was. His question was soon answered as Ron stepped out of the kitchen, newspaper and a cup of coffee in hand.

"Good morning sunshine, thought you might need this," Ron greeted as he set the mug down on the coffee table. "Hermione added some headache draught, hope you don't mind."

Harry, in fact, didn't mind at all as the dull pounding in the back of his head made it hard to think straight. "Thanks, Ron. I really appreciate it," Harry began as he reached for the steaming drink, "And I'm so sorr—"

"Ah ah ah. No need to say it. You're our best friend," Ron interrupted as he settled down into the recliner, unfurling his newspaper. "Right, Hermione?!" He called into the kitchen.

Hermione appeared in the door way, greasy spatula in hand, and her face broke into a smile as she spotted Harry on the couch. "Of course! You know you're always welcome, Harry." Not waiting for a response, Hermione disappeared, most likely returning to the skillet on the stove.

Harry grimaced as he took a swallow of the hot coffee, feeling terrible anyways for crashing on their couch. He glanced up at Ron, who had his nose buried in the _Daily Prophet_, and vaguely wondered whether or not his divorce made it in the paper. "Anything of interest today?"

Ron turned slightly pink, and adjusted the pages. "Nope. Nothing at all."

It was then that Harry noticed the front page was missing.

His stomach dropped.

Just because he wondered whether or not his private life was plastered across the newspaper didn't mean that he hoped it would be.

The coffee was set back down onto the table rather hurriedly, sloshing a little bit over the side as Harry asked, "Where is it?"

"Where is what?" Ron feigned innocently.

Harry braved standing up from the couch, ignoring the spinning of his head and stumbling only slightly as his toe got caught in the fringe of the carpet. He began to get a sick feeling in his stomach and he wasn't entirely sure it was solely from the hangover.

"Where did you put the front page?" Harry asked again, starting to feel a little frantic. Ron continued to focus on the paper, keeping his mouth shut. "I _have_ to know what the headline is!" Ron cleared his throat nervously and nodded towards the kitchen.

Crossing the living room and stepping onto the linoleum, Harry was once again hit with the smell of bacon and his stomach churned. Hermione was sliding scrambled eggs onto a plate, and she turned just as Harry demanded, "Where is the front page to the _Daily Prophet_?"

Slightly startled, Hermione dropped her spatula and bit her lip. The hand holding the plate of eggs trembled. "Oh, Harry," She started. "I don't think you should—"

"Don't think I should what?!" Harry half-yelled, trying to control his anger at the fact that there was most likely an embarrassing headline written about him, yet again.

Hermione looked at him for a moment with pursed lips and pitying eyes, not sure of what to say. She opened her mouth to speak, but Harry had already spotted the corner of newsprint poking out of the rubbish bin.

In his rush to grab the paper, he knocked the plate of eggs out of Hermione's hand. The ceramic landed with a 'thunk' and broke into three pieces while the eggs covered the previously clean kitchen floor, but Harry was too focused on the headline in the bin to notice the mess he had created.

By this point, Ron had abandoned his seat in the living room and was present in the doorway when Harry spread the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ out on the kitchen table, smoothing it with shaking hands.

Upon reading the headline, Harry felt the blood rush to his head and could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears as his mouth went dry.

**Gay Golden Boy Ends Marriage, But Is He Keeping It In The Family?**

The accompanying photo showed a drunk Harry clinging to Ron's side as they walked away from the bar the night before. Harry's arms were around Ron's middle, eyes half-closed and head lolling on the available shoulder. Ron was looking around with wand in hand for a place to apparate, his other hand gripping Harry's shoulder to keep him upright.

Hermione and Ron were both frozen in place, waiting for Harry's reaction as he absorbed the front page spread. His palms were placed firmly on each side of the paper, supporting him as he leaned over the table, forearms tensed and face flushed, partly with anger and partly with embarrassment.

The eggs remained on the floor, untouched.

There was a moment of silence.

Harry finally released his hands and straightened up from the table, still staring.

Ron shuffled his feet and scratched the back of his neck anxiously, shooting furtive glances at his wife.

Hermione let out the breath she didn't realize she had been holding, nodded at Ron and stepped forward tentatively, avoiding the eggs.

"Harry?" A pause. "Harry, it's not the end of the world." No response. She reached out and placed a soft hand on his shoulder. "Is there anything we can do for you?"

Harry turned his head towards Hermione, and his face relaxed slightly. He took a deep breath, letting go of some of his frustration.

"Thanks. I…I should get going."

And with that, Harry screwed his face up in concentration, and disappeared with a 'pop'.

Hermione could feel the magic ripple as he breached their wards, and with a glance towards Ron could see that he felt it too. The corners of her mouth upturned in a small smile as she remarked, "He never did take to using the front door, did he?"

Ron grinned in response. "I'll get a mop."

***

Harry found himself standing in the courtyard of the Leaky Cauldron, knowing it was one of the few places he could expect to go and not be bothered due to the discretion of the new management.

Nonetheless, he pulled the hood of his jumper up over his head, and avoided eye contact with the other clientele as he made his way to the bar.

Hannah was standing behind the polished oak counter as usual, her blond hair in two plaits and face distinctly less rosy than Harry was used to seeing, serving a mug of steaming something to a shrunken old woman.

He slid onto a barstool and quietly rapped his fingers against the wood to get her attention. She turned to see where the noise came from and recognizing Harry, her face split into a smile.

"Harry!" Upon seeing him tense up and shake his head, Hannah abruptly lowered her voice and glanced around to see if anyone had overheard.

Only the old witch at the bar had looked up, white foam coating her upper lip.

Hannah crossed to where he was sitting, leaned in closer and tried again. "Harry, it's good to see you! How are you holding up?"

"I've been better."

"Neville said you weren't looking so great last night," she added with a cheeky grin. Harry cringed at the memory of his blatant inebriation, flushing slightly.

Hannah's face quickly returned to a look of concern. "But really, how are you doing? The _Daily Prophet_ is a load of tripe, you know that right?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I know. I was actually hoping I could hole up in here for a bit until the whole thing blows over."

"Of course, of course!" Hannah replied, pulling out a glass from under the bar. "What can I get for you?"

"Oh, I uh…I actually meant in a room."

Hannah tilted her head and looked at him as if confused about why he would need a room.

"You know, since the divorce…"

"Ah! Right. No need to say more." Hannah wiped her hands on her apron, replaced the glass, and moved over to grab a room key. "I may have been sick in bed the last few days, but I don't live under a rock!"

She started to laugh until she saw the look on Harry's face, and then she became a little flustered. "I mean you're friends with Neville, and…I, uh, just meant that he talks to me—oh, but he doesn't tell me everything, don't worry. And I didn't mean to say that—"

Harry cut her off, removing the key from her hand and giving her a reassuring nod. "It's okay, Hannah, I am painfully aware that my personal life is public knowledge."

"Okay, well…" She reached out to give his hand a squeeze. "Just let me know if you need anything, alright? You're welcome to stay for as long as you like."

"Thanks, Hannah."

And with that, Harry headed towards the wooden staircase, intent on sleeping off his headache in peace.

***

Hermione was concerned.

Neither she nor Ron had heard anything from Harry since the _Daily Prophet_ ran that ridiculous article, and it had been three days.

According to Neville, his wife had given Harry a room at the Leaky Cauldron, which is why Hermione was there now, brushing the rain off of her coat and looking around the room for Hannah's blond hair.

She spotted her in the corner, passing off some bottles of butterbeer to a family of four. Once Hannah had returned to the bar, Hermione approached to greet her.

"Hello, Hannah."

"Oh, Hermione! Hello, how are you?! You should come around more often, we haven't talked in ages!" Hannah enthused.

Hermione looked a little uncomfortable at the zealous greeting, but politely smiled and responded, "Yes, it has been a while." She paused, looked around, and then lowered her voice. "But actually, I came in today looking for Harry."

"Ah." Hannah gave her a knowing look and leaned in conspiratorially. "Room 14." She then proceeded to grab a wet rag from under the bar and begin wiping down the counter as if no words had been exchanged.

Hermione nodded her thanks and headed towards the stairs, wondering what state she would find Harry in. He could usually handle whatever the _Daily Prophet_ threw at him, but outing his sexuality and his divorce in the same headline? That was pushing it.

Hermione was incredibly relieved, then, that Harry opened the door after only three knocks. Before either of them could say anything, Hermione enveloped him in a hug.

Harry, although initially surprised, returned the embrace, resting his chin in her rain-frizzed hair.

"I'm sorry," he started.

"For what?" She pulled back in the embrace to look at him.

"For disappearing."

A warlock in magenta robes passed the pair in the corridor and gave them a weird look, prompting Harry to grab Hermione's hand, pull her into his room and shut the door.

"I just…had some things to think about. You know." He moved towards the bed, running his fingers through his hair, and sat down on top of the comforter.

"Oh Harry, Ron and I just want you to be happy," Hermione replied as she went to sit next to him.

"But I think that's the problem, Hermione," Harry sighed, falling back onto the mattress. "I don't _know_ yet what will make me happy! I thought marrying Ginny is what I wanted, but now…I mean I don't even have a _job_. What the hell am I doing with my life?"

"Nobody knows what they are supposed to be doing with their lives," Hermione insisted as she slid back across the bed, resting against the headboard. "Not me, not Ron, not you. That sort of thing takes time."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and wrinkled his forehead as if in pain. Seeing Harry's distress, Hermione began to massage his scalp and he relaxed a little bit.

"You're right. I'll figure it out."

The pair remained in companionable silence, listening to the rain pattering on the window.

Harry's eyes were closed, but Hermione's were wandering aimlessly around the room. She noticed the pile of wrinkled clothes in the corner, and the greasy newsprint leftover from hot chips. She observed the open ink bottle on the desk, and the fingerprints on the mirror. She also spotted the corner of a bright red book that had been haphazardly shoved under the nightstand.

Hermione ceased the movement of her fingers. "What sorts of books are you reading these days, Harry?" She asked casually.

Harry's face reddened slightly as he opened his eyes, and propped himself up on his elbows.

"Oh, nothing terribly interesting," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck, and glancing at the book he had tried to hide when she knocked on his door.

Hermione was grinning as she leaned over the side of the bed to grab the offending piece of literature.

"_A_ _Gay Wizard's Guide to Love_, eh Harry? That is some quality reading you've got there," Hermione teased.

Harry's face reddened further.

"But in all seriousness, Harry, if you want to find love you need to leave this room for starters, and put yourself out there!"

Harry nodded his head in sheepish agreement, "I know, I know."

And Harry did know. That was the entire reason he had divorced Ginny, so that he could be free to put himself out there and find someone he loved as more than just a friend. Hell, it would probably be even easier now that his sexuality was announced to the public!

Hermione pursed her lips in thought. "Although you might want to think about getting a place to live, first."

Harry silently cursed Ginny for convincing him to sell Grimmauld Place.

"I really should get around to doing that," Harry agreed.

Hermione patted his arm. "Well, something to think about for today." She stood up to leave. "I need to pop into the Ministry briefly, but Ron and I would love to have you over for dinner tonight."

Harry stood up as well to say goodbye. "Yeah, I would love to." They embraced, and Hermione kissed him on the cheek.

"Take care of yourself, Harry."

"I will, Hermione."

At the click of the closing door, Harry sighed and picked up his book. There was a picture of two entwined broomsticks on the cover, and as Harry moved his thumb over them they squirmed and giggled.

Turning a little pink, Harry tossed the book into the corner of the room, and turned to look at himself in the mirror.

Bright green eyes framed by dark chunks of hair stared back.

Harry straightened up his shoulders and wiped a mustard stain off of his shirt. A hand reached up towards his hair, but froze midway.

"Don't bother," the mirror had wheezed, interrupting his movement.

Harry shook his head and lowered his hand in compliance.

No time like the present to step foot outside the Leaky Cauldron.

***

It was still drizzling by the time Harry shrugged on his coat, put his wand to the bricks, and stepped out onto the cobblestones of Diagon Alley. Fortunately, this meant that not a lot people were out and about. He made it to the threshold of the Cauldron Café without being accosted, but it was inside that he ran into someone familiar.

Harry made his way up to the counter, past the glass display case of pastries and cakes, to stand in the queue behind a witch with dark hair cut right below the ears. She spoke with a demanding voice, and Harry felt terribly sorry for the cashier who looked like he was struggling to keep up with her order.

"Pumpkin juice, _no ice_, a chicken sandwich with havarti instead of that cheddar…and no tomatoes either." She continued to order as she rummaged around in her violet dragonhide handbag. "Then also one of those strawberry tarts, but in a separate bag, napkin on the top not the bottom." A few galleons were placed on the counter. "And a cup of potato and leek soup that _must_ be hot. Make it snappy."

The cashier, whose nametag declared him as Ned, took the money with a shaky hand and nodded fervently. "Yes, yes, of course Miss Parkinson."

Pansy turned around with a self-important whirl, ignoring the handful of sickles Ned extended towards her in change, but froze when her dark blue eyes met Harry's mildly shocked ones. They hadn't seen each other since Pansy tried to get someone to grab him in the Great Hall that fateful day.

She gave him a blatant onceover, eyebrows raised in interest. _When on earth did the golden boy turn into a gorgeous man?_

"I see someone's grown up since Hogwarts." She smirked. "Although I guess being gay hasn't affected your hair."

Harry's face flushed red, and his eyes narrowed.

"At least I'm not a manky cunt."

He was a bit taken aback when instead of looking insulted, Pansy threw back her head and laughed. The sound had an uncanny resemblance to the bark of a small dog trapped underneath a car, and it grated on Harry's nerves to no end. He attempted to move past her to place his order, but Pansy stopped him with a firm grip on his arm.

Harry felt her nails digging in through the fabric of his shirt, so he reluctantly turned around to face her, glaring.

"What do you want?"

Whatever Harry was expecting, it was definitely _not_ what Pansy said next

"I want to offer you a job."

"What?!"

"Don't be daft, you heard me."

"But..Wha-I don't," Harry stuttered. He was baffled. Had they not just been trading insults?

Pansy gave an exasperated sigh and reached into her handbag, pulling out an embossed business card.

"I think you would fit in well with my work environment, and…" _How should I put this?_ "You would be a very valuable asset to the company."

Harry gaped at her.

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Pansy pressed the card into his hand.

"Call the address to set up an interview."

Ned placed her order on the counter, and she moved to grab the white paper bags and cup, giving a sharp nod to Harry on her way out of the café.

Pansy smiled to herself.

Dear Merlin, if Harry fucking Potter actually set up an interview, Draco would be thrilled with her! _Then maybe I won't have to fetch his lunch anymore_…

Harry was left standing in a daze, holding the business card and trying to comprehend what had just happened, until he heard the cashier clear his throat.

"Is there something I can get for you, Mr. Potter sir?"

"Just a cup of tea and a currant scone please," Harry replied distantly. Ned seemed relieved to have a polite customer.

"That'll be just a moment."

Harry mumbled his thanks, handed over a few sickles, and went to sit at a table in the back corner, business card held tight in his fist. He wasn't sure whether he should feel annoyed, angry, spiteful, or even—heaven forbid—_flattered_.

Pansy was an absolute cow in school, so why the sudden offering of the proverbial olive branch?

Harry removed the creased piece of cardstock from his hand intending to burn it with a quick flick of his wand, but his curiosity got the better of him, so he settled for placing it on the table in front of him.

It was fairly simple, with curling gold script on a white background. _Eros' Elite_ was the name of the business, and the only other information provided on the card was a floo address.

98 Diagon Alley. _That's right around the corner from the Weasleys' shop_.

Ned interrupted Harry's musings with the ordered tea and scone. "Milk and sugar are on the counter. Anything else I can get for you?"

"No, thanks."

Harry ended up responding to Ned's back, as the cashier had already turned around to rush back to the cash register, almost knocking over a nearby table in his haste. Harry once again felt sorry for the man, who seemed unable to handle anything more stressful than taking care of flobberworms.

Shaking his head slightly, he grabbed his teacup and moved to add some sugar, but no milk.

Harry had just grabbed a spoon to stir his drink when he noticed the bulletin board attached to the wall. A piece of parchment advertising a studio flat for rent caught his eye, so he ripped off one of the dangling tabs containing the apparition coordinates and shoved it into his pocket with the business card.

Hermione would be happy to hear that he accomplished _something_ today.

But first, Harry decided, he wanted to finish his breakfast.

***

The lift doors opened with a soft _ding_, and Pansy stepped out onto the lush crimson carpeting of the penthouse office suite that housed _Eros' Elite_. Her dragonhide handbag dangled from the crook of her elbow as she balanced a pumpkin juice in one hand, and two white paper bags in the other.

She casually brushed past numerous black leather chairs lined up against the walls, each of which held a relatively attractive wizard, and stopped at her desk to deposit her things. As Pansy began to remove her cup of soup from Draco's personal lunch, a young man with red curls and bright eyes approached her.

"Um, excuse me, Ms…"

"Parkinson," she filled in curtly.

"Yes, Ms. Parkinson." He fiddled with the hem of his polo shirt nervously. "Is Mr. Malfoy alright?" Pansy gave him a blank look. "I mean, my interview was scheduled for twenty five minutes ago, and I am sure the rest of these gentlemen would like to—"

"Like to what? Go home and wank?"

The man flushed, but before he could apologize, Pansy rolled her eyes, grabbed Draco's lunch, and started to move down the hallway towards his office. She had a sneaky suspicion he was taking his time to enjoy the company of the current interviewee.

Draco's libido _did_ always seem to be most active right before lunch.

Without hesitation, Pansy gave three sharp raps on the thick wooden doors and swung them open, not waiting for a response from her boss. Needless to say, the sight before her eyes did not surprise her at all.

The knuckles on Draco's left hand were turning white as he tightly gripped the edge of the desk, and although Pansy could not see it, she knew that his right hand was most likely entangled in the hair of the eager slut who had his hot mouth wrapped around Draco's cock.

"Draco, darling, I brought you your tart—oh no wait, it looks like you _already have one_."

Draco looked up sharply, his normally piercing gaze drastically softened by the dark haze of lust. Instead of addressing Pansy, however, he directed his command towards the head in his lap.

"Don't stop."

Pansy simply crossed towards the desk and set the white paper bags down in front of Draco, staring him straight in the eye. She could just see the sandy blonde hair moving back and forth, and affirmed her assumption about Draco's hand.

Draco shivered slightly—partly from pleasure and partly from the look in Pansy's blue eyes—as his left hand moved down to meet his right, encouraging the mouth to move faster.

_Sweet Merlin_.

Pansy sneered at the suede loafers poking out from underneath the bottom of the desk before retuning her gaze to Draco.

"Put your fucking dick in your pants and get back to work."

Draco gave a little groan, as if in disbelief, but really because he was _awfully_ close, and the interviewee had just done something _wonderful_ with his tongue, and his receptionist would _not_ leave him be.

"Damn it, Pansy, jus—mmm." His chin fell to rest on his chest as he let out a shuddering sigh, spilling his release into the welcoming orifice.

Pansy continued to stare, completely unabashed.

As usual, Draco composed himself quickly, and was zipping up his trousers before the mystery boy under the desk could even move.

"I take it my lunch is in those bags?"

"Yes, although it seems your _appetite_ has already been satisfied." She crossed her arms and smirked.

Draco ignored Pansy's comment as he moved towards the filing cabinet looming next to the fireplace for some paperwork. He returned to the man with the sandy blonde hair and the suede loafers, who had picked himself up off the floor and was standing casually by the window, hair still deliciously tousled.

"Fill these out before you leave and give them to my _lovely_ receptionist." Pansy scoffed at his words. "Welcome to the Elite, Finnegan."

Seamus grinned, took the paperwork, and winked at Pansy on his way out of the room.

Draco sat down again non-chalantly, reaching for his lunch as if Pansy was not even there. She uncrossed her arms, seemingly satisfied, and started towards the door, pausing as she grabbed the handle, and turned to face him.

"You have five minutes before I send in the next one."

"So be it."

And with the click of the door latch, Pansy was gone.

The chicken sandwich and strawberry tart turned out to be perfect compliments to the warm feeling of satisfaction in Draco's belly, and it was moments like these that made him wonder why he ever complained about his job.

Yes, conducting interviews could be tedious when faced with the inevitable bumbling, graceless idiot, and yes, matching clients to an appropriate escort could be quite a headache, but ultimately, Draco sat around and managed attractive men for a living! _And the free sex is a plus_.

Lately, however, Draco had begun to feel as though there was something missing from his life.

Logically, this was not at all true, since he had long since gotten over the death of his godfather, he was financially secure due to his diverse set of investments, he still had his friends, his parents, and numerous bedfellows to keep him company, and he was devastatingly handsome with an enjoyable day job to boot.

But despite all this, Draco still felt that—irrationally, he thought— he wanted more.

As he chewed the last bite of French bread, pondering his state of affairs, there was a gentle knock on the door before it opened, revealing a young man with red hair and bright eyes. Draco suppressed the urge to sneer.

_Ugh, he looks like a Weasley_.

Nonetheless, Draco brushed his hands free of any lingering crumbs, beckoned the interviewee over towards the seat in front of his desk, and began to count down the hours until Pansy would let him go home.

***

When Harry apparated into Ron and Hermione's mudroom that evening for dinner—and ten minutes early, no less—he was surprised to run into someone he was hoping he wouldn't have to face for a while.

Ginny was sitting on a stool, pulling on her trainers, and decidedly caught off guard by the appearance of her ex-husband.

"Er…Hello," Harry said awkwardly.

"Hi, Harry."

Ginny stared determinedly at her feet, and Harry was positive she could tie her shoelaces much faster than she was currently tying them. There was a heavy moment of silence before they both tried to speak at the same time.

"So I was—" "Look, I'm—"

There was another awkward pause.

"Oh no, you go ahead," Harry started, rubbing his sweaty palms on his shirt.

Ginny chewed her lower lip, tightened her laces, and stood up carefully to face him. Harry could see the hurt in her eyes, and he suddenly felt much worse than he had all day.

"So I was just wondering if you had…found a place to stay, yet."

"Erm…" His voice sounded a bit choked, so Harry cleared his throat. "Yeah…Er, yes I have."

"Well…you can…come get your things anytime," Ginny managed to say softly, nervously carding her fingers through her brilliantly red hair.

Harry nodded and pointed his face at the ground, his neck tense, as he hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his trousers and clenched his fingers. The silence hung heavily in the air.

It was now or never.

"Look, Ginny, I am so…" He took a deep breath, and lifted his head to meet her gaze. "I am so sorry." She moved her focus towards the door as Harry continued on. "I love you, but I couldn't…that is to say, I can't be with you." A tell-tale shimmer appeared in Ginny's eyes and Harry felt sick with guilt for making a normally tearless woman cry. "Just not in the way that…that you need." He paused. "Or deserve."

At the last part, Ginny looked up at him and blinked back her disappointed tears before she said in a gentle voice, "I know, I just…need some time."

They stared at each other for a moment before Ginny grabbed her cloak and headed towards the door. She paused, rubbing her eyes with her sleeve, before turning back around to face him.

"Take care, Harry."

He gazed at her with somber eyes.

"You too, Gin."

And with that, Ginny left, leaving Harry staring blankly at the closed door behind her. Fortunately, he was saved from having to dwell too much on their conversation by the appearance of Ron.

"Hey mate," Ron greeted, his grin lessening as he noticed the expression on Harry's face. "Alright, there?"

"Yeah," Harry assured weakly, toeing off his muddy trainers.

Ron looked skeptical, but didn't press the issue, instead choosing to lead the way into the kitchen where Hermione had just finished pouring some wine into three glasses lined up on the counter. The couple had agreed not to mention the appearance of Ron's sister, who had been looking for some company before they had to politely tell her to leave.

As soon as Hermione turned to say hello, however, she knew that they had not sent Ginny away early enough. She also knew that Harry would not want to talk about it, so she put down the bottle of wine and gave him a hug instead, glancing worriedly at Ron over Harry's shoulder.

Her worry seemed to be unfounded as the evening wore on, which was a relief to both Ron and Hermione. After some pot roast and a glass or two of red wine, Harry seemed to have turned back into his normal self, amicably relating the story of how Pansy Parkinson, of all people, had tried to offer him a job.

"…and then she just walked away! Like it was perfectly normal to give her business card to someone she tried to hand over to Voldemort!"

Although Ron cringed at the use of the dark wizard's name, he still found the story to be absolutely hilarious, and thumped Harry on the back appreciatively as he helped himself to more mashed potatoes. "Blimey, she must have been Confunded or something."

Hermione was smiling as well, but it was more of a thoughtful smile. "Well, why don't you set up an interview?"

Both Harry and Ron froze, their laughter stopping abrubtly, and Hermione pretended not to notice the potatoes falling out of her husband's agape mouth.

Harry was the first to recover. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," Hermione responded firmly. When she received nothing more than stunned looks, she sighed exasperatedly and continued. "Think about it, Harry. She was obviously willing enough to overlook the history between you two to offer up a job opportunity, so there must be something about you that would be highly desirable for the company, and whoever she works for would probably be willing to bend over backwards for you."

By this point, Ron had swallowed, and was sending looks towards Harry that clearly said 'What the bloody hell is she going on about?' But Harry wasn't paying attention to Ron since he was so focused on Hermione.

"I don't care about money, you know that."

Ron nodded feverishly in agreement.

"I am not just talking about money, Harry," Hermione chided. "You can't sit around all day and do nothing because then you will get _bored_. If Pansy's company wants you that badly, then surely you would be able to work on your own terms, and it would give you something to do!"

"But no one wants to work with that cunt, and especially not Harry, right, mate?" Ron chimed in, reaching for his wine glass.

"Er…right. And I don't even know what her company does," Harry tried to rationalize, as he did not want to admit he thought Hermione might have a point. He had been awfully bored lately…

"Well, what's the name of it?" Hermione inquired.

"Eros' Elite."

It was at this point that Ron sprayed red wine all over the table, coughing and gasping for breath.

"_Eros' Elite?!_" He spluttered. "But that's…that's an _escort service_, Harry!"

Harry, his cheeks flushing and eyebrows high with surprise, turned to Hermione for confirmation.

She sighed and nodded. "He's right, but it's technically a _male_ escort service. There have been full page ads in the _Daily Prophet_, which I doubt you would have seen…"

The '…because you don't read the _Daily Prophet_' was left unsaid.

"Well then that settles it," Ron declared, returning to his mashed potatoes. "Harry doesn't want to work as an escort so he can't work for Parkinson."

Harry didn't respond right away, prompting Ron's fork to pause between his mouth and the plate as he looked expectantly at Harry. "Right, mate?"

Harry's eyebrows were knitted together in thought.

"You know, this could be an opportunity for you to meet other men, Harry," Hermione observed, methodically wiping up the wine next to her plate. "Maybe you really should take Pansy up on her offer."

Harry couldn't help but legitimately contemplate Hermione's words. He could basically get paid to meet men, which is what he would be attempting to do in his free time anyways. Only this would make it even easier…

Ron was so absolutely flabbergasted that either of them could even consider such a thing, he forgot about the food on his fork in his confusion.

"I think you might be right, Hermione," Harry finally admitted. "I _am_ bored, and I _do_ want to meet other people."

Ron gave a strangled laugh as his cheeks turned a funny shade of red, and he seemed to have some trouble with his words. "But—can't—_Parkinson_, Harry—how—" With a pointed glare from Hermione however, Ron managed to calm down enough to articulate his thoughts. "I don't understand why you would want to work for a cow like Parkinson, Harry," He said in an unusually high pitched voice, placing his fork on his plate.

"I don't really know why either, Ron," Harry replied as he rubbed his forehead, wondering vaguely if there was something wrong with him.

Seeing his best friend's mental distress and the look on his wife's face, Ron took a deep breath and decided to try and accept the fact that Harry was seriously considering working as an escort for Pansy Parkinson.

"Well, it could be worse," Ron sighed, a defeated look on his face.

Harry and Hermione both stared at him.

"You could be working for Draco Malfoy."

The tension in the air dissipated as Harry's face broke into a small smile and Hermione shook her head lovingly at Ron, who looked less like he was going to explode and more like he felt a bit peaky.

After the appearance and disappearance of the treacle tart, Harry's favorite, the trio gathered in the mudroom to say their goodbyes. Harry was pulling on his trainers, trying to forget his earlier exchange with Ginny, Hermione was insisting that he owl and let her know about the interview, and Ron was gently caressing the small of Hermione's back while simultaneously beaming down at his best friend.

"Don't disappear on us again, okay Harry?" Hermione stated firmly, placing her hand on his shoulder.

"I won't," Harry replied, standing up from the stool and zipping up his jumper. "You'll definitely be hearing from me." Next thing Ron and Hermione knew he had vanished with a _pop_ from their mudroom.

Ron gave a mock groan. "Doors, Harry, doors!"

Hermione laughed softly and grabbed her husband's hand, pulling him into the kitchen to help with dishes.

***

Harry had apparated directly into his new studio flat. The owner of the building was some nameless rich entrepreneur who made enough money elsewhere to provide nice housing at a reasonable price, and Harry—who disliked spending his money unnecessarily—was pleased to find that the place was quite comfortable for what he paid.

After flopping down onto the futon in the corner, not bothering to remove his shoes, Harry stared at the off-white ceiling, Pansy's business card burning a figurative hole in his pocket and his mind reeling.

Two months ago he would have _never_ considered applying to work as an escort, and _especially_ not for an ex-Slytherin. On the plus side, Pansy had not actually been a Death Eater so she couldn't really be _that_ bad—besides the obvious selfishness, of course. But still, what had changed?

When Harry thought about it, the answer was pretty clear. Two months ago was when he had quit his job as an Auror.

Somehow, tracking down and chasing dark wizards just wasn't as engaging as fighting a war against Voldemort. Quite frankly, it was a boring and tedious job, and even the brief moments of action seen as the Aurors closed in on the criminal were not enough to keep Harry from feeling inadequate, frustrated, and downright cranky. The rest of the time, he was at a desk, looking through records or interviewing witnesses or folding memos to send to other departments.

Harry might have been able to stand it had he been treated like all the other Aurors working their tails off, Ron included. Instead, the Head of the Department—Gawain Robards—had felt the need to act like Harry was better than everyone else. Harry had never been the one who actually obtained important documents, or tracked down key witnesses; he had just involuntarily taken the credit for getting information from them. Harry had actually been clueless to this fact until Ron was the one to bring a witness to him.

Harry was reading an old transcript of a Death Eater's trial when Ron came into the office one afternoon, the torn hem of his robe dragging on the ground, scratches on his hands, and mud mingled with sweat dripping down his face.

"Bloody hell, Ron, what happened to you?"

"Just tracking down Higgs." Ron wiped his face with the sleeve of his robe. "Bugger decided to run. But he's apprehended in the holding cell waiting to talk to _you_."

Harry did not miss the bitter emphasis on the last word.

"Well…you caught him, why don't you do the interview?"

Ron gave a strained chuckle. "Because Robards wants you to do it."

A familiar sinking sensation appeared in Harry's stomach. He knew Ron did not necessarily enjoy playing second fiddle to Harry, as he had done all those years, and Harry didn't blame him.

"But you're the one who apprehended— "

"I don't make the orders, I just follow them," Ron interrupted, his hands up as if in surrender.

Harry had been disgusted with himself the rest of the day. How had he not noticed the exasperated expressions on his colleagues' faces every time he was given an assignment, or the way they refused to look him in the eye when they delivered something to his desk? The injustice of it all made Harry's blood boil. He was bored at work because his boss rarely let him out in the field, which is what Harry wanted to do, but then his co-workers were mad at him for staying at his desk because he did all the supposedly 'important' work. It was ridiculous!

The final straw had been when Robards offered Harry the position of Assistant Head of the Auror Department, which Harry knew for a fact did not exist. He had politely declined, packed up his desk, and turned in the proper paperwork, despite Kingsley's protests that Harry would disappoint the wizarding public.

Harry was pretty sure he did not care.

Eventually, after spending a few days jobless and at home, it became quickly apparent that his former job wasn't the only thing Harry had been clueless about. His relationship with his wife had somehow become very platonic. What made it perhaps worse was that Ginny couldn't understand why he had quit his job when Harry had thought the reason was quite clear.

Their disagreement resulted in the couple lying in bed that night with their backs to each other, Ginny softly breathing in her sleep and Harry wondering why he was so upset that she didn't understand.

For most of his life, Harry had been hailed as a 'hero' even when there was a multitude of equally talented witches and wizards who had accomplished just as much as he had. He refused to expect special treatment just because he was the unlucky soul who was destined to destroy Voldemort, so of course it would be frustrating if his boss wouldn't treat him like a normal person! And at the expense of the self-worth of people like Ron, too. Harry wouldn't stand for it.

The silent fuming that night in bed did nothing to help Harry's mood the next day as he sat around the apartment doing nothing. He hadn't realized it before he quit his job, but it seemed as though in the daily grind of going to work, coming home, shoveling down food, making small talk with his wife, and then kissing her goodnight, Harry had forgotten about…well, if he had to put a word to it, Harry had forgotten about _passion_.

He had never been passionate about his job, but unfortunately, being an Auror was so time consuming and demanding Harry never had time to devote to other hobbies—he had no idea what else he was passionate about. Quidditch maybe? Although if the schedule Ginny kept was anything to go by, earning money as a professional Quidditch player was almost as stressful as being an Auror.

Another thing Harry had noticed was passionless in his life was, sadly enough, his marriage. He loved Ginny, there was no doubt about that, but he didn't feel the gentle tugs of attraction that he had felt when they were teenagers. They rarely copulated, and when they did, Harry could barely get into it enough to even have it classify as sex. Towards the end of their marriage—and if Harry was honest with himself, even before that—their physical contact was limited to chaste kisses and hugs that seemed more fit for siblings than lovers.

The first time Harry had actually felt passion again occurred at about the same moment Harry realized he might be gay.

It had been six weeks since Harry quit his job, and he had resorted to perusing the pages of _Witch Weekly_ in an effort to keep himself occupied while enjoying his second morning cup of tea. His day started out normally enough: Ginny left for practice before Harry even got out of bed, two pieces of toast and a cup of tea woke him up sufficiently to make another cup and carry it to the living room, the snitches on his boxers all flitted towards the front as his back reclined into the leather couch, and the wizard on the cover of the magazine winked at Harry as he propped his sock-covered feet up on the coffee table.

That wink, of course, made something in Harry's stomach clench slightly as he recognized the face of his old Quidditch captain, Oliver Wood. Turning quickly to the center page spread and holding the magazine out in front of him, Harry found himself admiring the way the blue uniform robes draped across Wood's broad shoulders, and the way his leather encased hands gripped the handle of the new Firebolt.

Harry was so entranced by the moving photograph, he failed to notice that all the snitches had moved distinctly away from his groin.

When he did eventually realize the effect the magazine had on him, Harry shot up from the sofa, heart pounding as he tossed it haphazardly onto the coffee table, nearly knocking over his cup of tea. He ran his shaky fingers through his hair as he moved back towards the kitchen, Oliver Wood's eyes burning holes into the back of his head. _Did that mean what I think it means?_

Harry's suspicions about his preferences were irrefutably confirmed when Charlie came to visit his sister and brother-in-law two weeks later. It was very hard for Harry to deny how he felt about men when Charlie looked so similar to Ginny, yet Harry did not feel the urge to do with his wife what he fantasized about doing with the dragon tamer.

Needless to say, it was a very uncomfortable weekend, and once Charlie left, it did not take Harry long to be completely honest with Ginny about his feelings. Divorce proceedings ensued.

When it came down to it, a lot had changed about Harry's life in two short months. _Was_ he crazy to call Pansy and set up an interview? Perhaps. But was he ready for something new in his life? Most definitely.

_I'll floo her tomorrow_.

Satisfied with his decision, Harry slowly drifted off to sleep.

***

If Pansy was surprised to see Harry's head floating in the flames of Eros' Elite's fireplace the next morning, she did a good job of hiding it.

"Took you long enough."

Harry flushed, indignant because it had barely been twenty four hours since she had given him the business card. Before he could respond, however, Pansy spoke again in her sharp voice.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Get your golden arse over here." She turned back to cup of tea she was currently stirring milk into.

"But—"

"You can see the boss in ten minutes."

Prickles of anger and annoyance joined the flutters of nervousness in Harry's stomach as he reluctantly complied, brushing the soot off his trousers as he stumbled onto the carpeting. Why had she assumed he was going to ask for an interview? _Self-righteous hag_.

Nonetheless, Harry pulled his resumé out of his pocket and reached to hand it to her, lips pressed tightly together. Pansy snatched the parchment from his hand, glanced at it, smirked, and placed it in the manila folder lying open on the desk.

"Sit down, and I will let you know when you can go in." Without further acknowledging Harry, Pansy proceeded to pick up the folder and the cup of tea and walk briskly to the large wooden double doors at the end of the hall.

Once they had shut firmly behind her, Harry took a deep breath and went to sit in one of the available seats. The black leather felt cool against Harry's sweaty palms as he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the chair, silently reminding himself of the reasons to interview for this job.

Pansy reappeared in front of Harry much sooner than he would have liked, a smug smile on her face.

"He's ready to see you now," she told him, gesturing towards the now ominous doors before turning back towards the reception desk.

Harry stood up, his heart beating furiously as he wiped his hands on the front of his shirt and carefully made his way to the boss' office. The doors gave way with a soft _click_, and as Harry stepped inside, it occurred to him too late that he should have asked Pansy who, exactly, this man was.

The man was facing an expansive window, and all Harry could see was the platinum blonde hair and the defined shoulders over the top of the high-backed chair. A knot of dread began to form in his stomach as Harry remembered the only person he knew with hair that color…

_Bollocks_.

Summoning up his Gryffindor courage, Harry cleared his throat and willed his tongue to form a few words.

"Hello, I…I hope I'm not late," Harry stuttered, cursing himself for how weak his voice had sounded. He continued to stare fixedly at the back of the blonde head, desperately hoping that the man would _not_ be who Harry thought it was. The knot in Harry's stomach tightened fiercely as the man turned around, his worst fears confirmed.

He was staring directly into the gray eyes of Draco Malfoy.

Harry's brief flash of panic subsided, however, when he was unexpectedly impressed by Draco's smile. Harry swallowed hard, feeling as though he had just ingested a snitch.

There was a shocked moment of silence before the owner of Eros' Elite laced his fingers together and leaned towards Harry.

_What have I gotten myself into?_

"Well hello Harry Potter."

***

**A/N:** Please review, even just to say you liked it. And constructive criticism, as always, is welcomed!


	2. Part II Teaser

**A/N:** It has been so long since I last updated, I wanted to reassure you that this story _will_ be finished, and I thought I'd give you lovely readers a preview of Part II. I expect to have it actually posted in a few weeks, but my life has been so ridiculous lately, who knows. Enjoy!

***

"Well hello Harry Potter."

There was a tense moment of silence as Harry remained frozen in shock, like a deer caught in the headlights, and Draco watched with internal glee as his former rival looked increasingly uncomfortable under his gaze.

Harry, in turn, decided that Ron's joke last night was _terribly_ unfunny. He was torn between wanting to flee and wanting to throw a punch into that leering face. He settled for backing away towards the door, absolutely mortified that he had convinced himself to go through with this interview.

"Um…I think there may have been a mistake."

Draco gave a smooth chuckle.

"You know very well, _Potter_, that there has been no mistake."

Harry flushed, knowing that Draco was entirely right.

"Well I—"

"Why don't you take a seat, and we can have a little chat about why, exactly, you would like to earn an income as an escort," Draco interrupted, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. He could see the fierce internal debate occurring in Harry's head, and vaguely wondered what it would be like to have those gorgeous green eyes looking up at Draco from his lap. _Another day, perhaps_.

Right now, the situation called for some careful persuasion.

Harry hesitantly moved away from the door and sat down in the proffered chair. His hands were clenched into tight fists that rested on his lean thighs as he stared at the wood grain of the desk, deliberately avoiding Draco's gaze.

Draco, on the other hand, was studying Harry with calculating eyes, trying to determine what could have possibly brought the golden boy into his office, and what would be the best way to convince Harry to join the Elite. _Let's start simple, shall we?_ Draco unclasped his hands and relaxed into his office chair, pulling out a clean sheet of parchment and dipping his eagle feather quill into a pot of green ink.

"Full name, please."

Harry looked up, his shoulders tense. "Harry James Potter," he replied after a short pause.

"Previous occupation?"

"Er…Auror."

The only indication Draco gave that he heard Harry's answer was a slight eyebrow raise and the further scribbling of the quill. The next question was not so easy.

"Sexual preference?"

"Erm…" He cleared his throat. "Pardon?"

Draco rolled his eyes at the blatant stall tactic. Anyone who read the _Daily Prophet_ already knew the answer to that question—Harry was just denying himself if he couldn't say it out loud.

"Well, do you prefer shoving into wet quivering quim or being pounded into the mattress by a raging hard-on?"

Harry made a little choking noise. Who knew the Malfoy heir could be so vulgar? _Wait a minute…_

"Who said I'm the one who gets…uh…penetrated?" he asked defiantly.

Draco chuckled. "Well, seeing as your pussy footing around the original question, I think that answer is pretty obvious."

Harry flushed. Dear Merlin, this was terribly embarrassing. "Men," he managed to say quietly.

"Sorry, what was that?" Draco asked innocently, smirking as he leaned an ear towards Harry, wanting to prolong the man's discomfort and make him say it again.

"Men, Malfoy. I like MEN!" The last part came out a little louder than Harry had intended, so he cringed, closed his eyes, and slumped into his seat, defeated.

Draco inwardly laughed. "No need to shout, Potter, it's not _that_ exciting." The only response he received was a glare. Still immensely pleased with himself, Draco dipped his quill in the ink pot again, and continued to take notes.

"And how did you hear about this position?"

"Your receptionist," Harry bit out.

"Ah. Quite a bitch, that one is, eh?" Draco flashed another disarming smile, and Harry felt his stomach clench a bit. _What is he playing at?_

There was a moment of silence as Draco jotted down a few more notes—_hair, black; eyes, green; build, athletic—_and then set down his quill, re-clasping his hands and meeting Harry's guarded gaze.

"So tell me, Harry," Draco said in voice akin to a cat that had caught a canary. "I am absolutely _dying_ to hear why you decided to take Pansy up on her offer." His predatory face made Harry shiver slightly and clench his fists tighter, relishing the feel of his fingernails digging into his palms.

This was not a very fun interview.

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I was bored," he answered reluctantly. "And apparently round the bend," he muttered to himself.

"And you thought getting paid to be a doting boyfriend to a different person every night would keep you entertained?"

Harry's cheeks turned a telling shade of pink.

"My, my, I did not realize the savior of the Wizarding World took such pleasure in being a salacious individual."

Harry bit his tongue to keep himself from responding with a nasty retort. This was,_ technically_, a job interview.

Draco gave another one of those infuriatingly stunning smiles at the golden boy's silence and leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs and resting a defined chin on his steepled fingers.

"I'll be frank with you, Harry," Draco started, secretly enjoying the way the name felt in his mouth and the way said person was glaring at him. "Anyone would pay a fortune to have you on his or her arm, even for just one night."

Harry had to admit the same thought had crossed his mind, albeit briefly.

"Since your presence in the Elite would be quite excellent for business, I am willing to offer you sixty percent of the income paid to me by the client, and I will also allow you to choose which nights a week you work, a much better deal than I would normally offer an applicant with no experience."

Ignoring the logical part of his brain that was telling him to leave, Harry took a moment to consider Draco's offer, Hermione's voice echoing in his head. _"You can't sit around all day and do nothing…"_

"I get to choose my…uh…clients and you have a deal."

"Seventy-five percent and I choose your clients for you."

"Do you really think I care about money, Malfoy?"

"Point taken. If I choose a client you don't like, you can say no once. That's my final offer."

As much as some part of Harry wanted to say yes, he did not trust Draco in the least to assign him to suitable dates. Harry let out a frustrated snort and rubbed his forehead, unsurprised that this interview seemed to have been a waste of his time. "Well, seeing as we can't agree, which isn't anything new, I...should just go." Shaking his head, he stood up and started towards the door.

Draco grimaced. He hated giving in. But that was a really nice arse that could fetch a really high price, and it was about to exit his office. There had to be _something_ Draco could get out of this business deal…

"I will let you pick and choose your clients…"

Harry closed the door he had been about to walk out of and turned back around to face Draco, mildly satisfied that he was so desirable and a little surprised that a Malfoy would just give in.

Until Draco finished his sentence.

"…if you go on a date with me."

_What?!_ Harry felt that obnoxious clench in his belly again. That was not how he had expected their disagreement to be resolved, and he was about to refuse when the rational part of Harry's brain reminded him that it was this job or long, boring days spent jerking off to _Witch Weekly_. The irrational part of Harry's brain, on the other hand, told him that Draco apparently _did_ have it in him to assign Harry to suitable dates.

_Oh, fuck it_.

"Alright. I accept your job offer." Harry felt a little giddy at the ridiculousness of what he just agreed to do.

"Excellent." Draco, a self-satisfied smirk on his face, rolled up the piece of parchment he had been writing on and sealed it with a tap of his wand. "Hand this to Pansy on your way out."

Harry took the roll of parchment from his new boss and nodded politely, his cheeks flushed and heart pounding with disbelief at what he had just done. He felt a little lightheaded as he turned the door handle and stepped out into the hall.

"Welcome to the Elite, Potter," Draco called after Harry as the newest escort made his way towards reception.

_Well goodbye boring life_.

***

**A/N: **Reviews are greatly appreciated. I can always change what I've written so far! And if in the future, you would rather just wait for the whole chapter, please let me know and I won't ever post a preview again.


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